Dead or Damned
by rgm0005
Summary: I know this is a bad idea. If I just die doing this, I'll be lucky, and I'm probably not. But...I have to, even knowing the cost. Sometimes you just have to do something, even knowing its horrible and dangerous, because its the only way you can live with yourself afterwards. I'll get out of here and come back to you, Annabeth, no matter what it takes. I love you. Forgive me.


In celebration of Skin Games—and in an attempt to get back into the swing of writing both PJO and the Dresden Files—here's something that's been kicking around in my brain for a while. Not going to be very long, relatively speaking, though it might act as a short story prequel to something down the line, depending. Mainly, I've fallen into a bit of a funk with Summer Vacation and being generally worthless, so I'm trying to shake it off and get back into things. Cross your fingers.

Also, warning: I'm trying to avoid any spoilers for it since it's not directly relevant, but this story takes place around the time of Skin Game in the DF. It also occurs, more obviously, near the end of House of Hades for Percy Jackson.

**Dead or Damned**

**The Frying Pan**

Given their location, it probably shouldn't have been surprising when everything went to hell. The exact way it went to hell was rather unexpected, but then, it always was, wasn't it? One moment, we'd been standing before Krios and Hyperion as they bickered. The next, there'd been a whistling sound that had reminded me of an incoming missile, a sudden explosion, and I was abruptly flat on my back twenty feet away.

I staggered to my feet quickly, dazed and confused but surprisingly not in any pain—which could be very good or very bad, depending on if I was in shock or not. Regardless, my own wellbeing wasn't a priority here; I immediately looked for Annabeth, spotting her quickly and was relieved to see that she appeared fine—before the problem with that occurred to me and made my heart skip a beat.

She looked _fine_, instead of like Death warmed over. The Death Mist that had given his nightmare's fuel had been torn away, leaving her looking like a person instead of a corpse. For a moment, that had made his spirit rise—and then he'd realized what it meant.

No Death Mist meant no protection from the monsters.

And there were surrounded by monsters. Lots and lots of monsters. More than they could possibly fight, even at their best and here, now, after days in Tartarus…

I looked to the Doors of Death, to our only hope of escape. They were closer to it than the monsters, but they'd have to hurry because any second now they'd be swarmed—

The air around the doors began to darken, as if the light there was fleeing. It thickened until it almost seemed solid and it was only then I realized it _was_. It was taking shape, becoming a massive figure—purple skin beneath armor of black iron and bone. Faces appeared upon his breast plate—monsters I recognized and ones I didn't, all struggling and trying to get out—only to be dragged down and submerged once more. I lifted my eyes to the figure's 'face' or what I could see of it beneath his helmet of twisted metal and still burning lava. I gazed into what seemed to be no more than a hungry spiral of darkness and watched as the remains of Hyperion and Krios were sucked into his maw and devoured.

Two Titans, torn apart in an instant of insulted displeasure. It didn't take a genius to take that and his appearance and put two and two together.

"Tartarus," I breathed. I tried to look away, to check on Annabeth and Bob, but I couldn't avert my gaze. I realized abruptly that I had started to shake. There was a sound like a mountain breaking and its pieces falling to the Earth and I wasn't sure if it was a laugh or a roar.

_This form is only a small manifestation of my power,_ The voice of the Pit rang through my mind as if someone had struck a tuning fork and shoved it into my brain. It was about as pleasant, too. _But it is more than enough to deal with you. I do not interfere lightly, little demigod. It is beneath me to deal with gnats such as yourself._

I swallowed and licked my lips, trying to think of a reply through the fear.

"Don't, uh…" My voice faltered as I stared up my…um. My step-great grandfather? He was forty feet tall. Maybe fifty. "Don't go through any, uh…trouble."

_You have proven surprisingly resilient,_ Tartarus spoke. _You have come too far. I can no longer stand by and watch your progress._ _Be honored, little demigods. Even the Olympians were never worthy of my personal attention, but you will be destroyed by Tartarus himself!_

I wanted to say something witty and smarmy then—about being unique or feigning boredom. But looking up—and up and up and up—what I really wanted was to do was request a less memorable death like…pretty much anything but this. Maybe dying in my sleep. Failing that, I could have lived with having the Curse of Achilles back. Or those pearls that transported me out of the Underworld from way back. Or a fucking Battleship at the very least, gods.

The words didn't come. Behind me and in front of me and around me and wow were there a lot of monsters here, there was cheering from the armies of monsters and a part of me, ridiculously, hoped it'd drown out the fact that I was speechless. I half expected to be torn limb from limb a second later, but seconds passed and the armies fell silent. I didn't die, which I guessed was a good thing. I assumed the monsters wanted to approach Tartarus about as much as I did.

But I had to think of something. I had to…to distract him, I guess? Except, he wasn't really focused on us, at the moment, which was probably why we were alive. He was flexing his fingers, stretching slightly, as if appreciating his new body, drawing this out a little longer. I tried to come up with a plan.

By the time Tartarus spoke again, all I'd come up with was to become really religious and pray to anyone who'd listen.

_It is good to have form,_ Tartarus told us with a voice that sounding like the words were falling into his void of a mouth rather than rising out. _To have flesh and shape. Now that I have hands, I can eviscerate you._

I swallowed again, looking around. It wasn't just his voice—everything seemed to be flowing towards his mouth. Everything on the vast plain, including Annabeth and I, had grown a misty trail like that of a comet's, pointing towards the massive god. It took me a second to realize what it was; our life force or souls or whatever it was that kept us alive. Even if he did absolutely nothing, at this rate we were going to die by proximity.

There goes plan 'sit around and come up with a plan.' Which was unfortunate, because it was all I had. I could try to fight—if I could rise from my knees and stop shaking so bad—but it'd probably just get us all killed. I had seen how quickly he'd destroyed Hyperion and Krios. If he hadn't wanted to physically tear me limb from limb, he may well have done the same to me. Or maybe not. Maybe it was some kind of special 'monsters only' bit and he couldn't think me to death. Then I'd be able to fight an immortal god ten times my size with powers that I was pretty sure could have cowed my father. And who was sucking my life away as the seconds ticked on. The result would have been the same, though it may have taken a little longer to get there.

But what choice did I have? I could die on my feet or on my knees and I knew where I'd rather be in that equation. And maybe, just maybe, if a miracle happened…maybe I could get Annabeth out. As Tartarus turned to look at me, I tried to rise and did something I'd never done before.

I dropped my sword. It just fell from my cold, shaking fingers and hit the dirt with a quiet thump. For a minute I thought I'd been disarmed somehow—but no, I'd actually dropped it. I was shaking too hard to hold it and it had fallen from my hands because I was that scared. When his gaze fell on me, it was like an ocean of terror was weighing down on me, telling me to give in, and I…had. And I felt ashamed.

Tartarus gave another shattering laugh.

_Your fear smells wonderful,_ He purred. _My, but I begin to see the appeal of having a physical body with so many delicious senses. Perhaps my beloved Gaia is right, wishing to wake from her slumber._

Tartarus reached out towards me with a hand that could have part-timed as construction equipment and I knew it was over.

And then Bob appeared out of nowhere and smacked his knuckles with his spear.

"Begone!" He shouted. "You have no right to interfere in this!"

_Interfere?_ Tartarus hissed. _I am Tartarus, lord of the darkness and all the creatures within it. I do as I please, Iapetus. _

His cyclone of a face spun faster and I was forced to cover my ears at the horrible sound it caused. The trail that stretched from Bob grew longer as it was sucked towards the face of the god. And in the face of that…Bob charged and thrust his spear. He was smacked aside a moment later, but the fact remains—and he didn't die.

I grit my teeth and lowered my eyes to my sword. There was something stopping me from picking up my sword—whether it was my own fear or something Tartarus had done. Whichever the case, I fought against it while Tartarus was distracted and laid my hand over the hilt before looking up, catching Bob's eye as he lay sprawling.

_Why do you not disappear?_ Tartarus murmured. _You are nothing, Iapetus. You are even weaker than Krios and Hyperion._

"But I am Bob," My friend said, smiling at me.

Tartarus hissed. _And what of it? You were a servant, Iapetus. A mindless fool. And you claim this gives you power?_

"No, not that. But I choose to be more than Iapetus," Bob said. "You do not control me, Tartarus. I am not like my brothers."

A bulge appeared in his collar as Small Bob crawled out and leapt down to the feat of his master, arched his back, and hissed at the lord of darkness as his body grew, swelling into the shape of a saber-toothed tiger with the light of its skeleton shining through his skin.

I met Bob's eyes and nodded.

"And I have a very good cat," He finished and Not-Really-All-That-Small Bob leapt at Tartarus, claws sinking into his thigh as he scrambled up the gods leg, under his armored skirt and—

Well. I was pretty sure Tartarus suddenly stopped having fun with the whole having a body thing.

Bob rushed Tartarus a moment later, spear extending to sink into Tartartus side, right above his waist—a sliver of flesh the breastplate didn't cover. I dashed the moment I'd seen Small Bob move and Tartarus didn't seem to notice me as I circled behind him and swung Riptide at the back of his foot, at his Achilles Tendon.

Tartarus screamed, a sound that probably deafened me somewhat.

_You'll dying screaming,_ He swore. _And afterwards, I will add your soul to my armor, and leave you to slowly dissolve, over and over, in agony without end._

As threats go, that was a pretty decent one. Might have had something to do with the screaming faces that rose from his armor. I dove away as he stomped hard, but Bob just grinned as he did the same—which was either extraordinarily brave or insane.

"Take the doors," He told me. "I'll deal with Tartarus."

The dark god snarled and turned to his army.

_Destroy them._

"Percy!" I turned and saw Annabeth, already standing by the Doors. She'd already cut through the left set of chains, probably having rushed them when I ran for Tartarus—which, I guess, was probably a smarter course of action then fighting Tartarus himself. However, I could see monsters closing in on her as she approached the right set, and I knew they'd be on her before she was finished.

I glanced at Bob, who nodded to me once, and ran. But I was further way than I had been before, having run to Tartarus, the monsters closer then I was, and they swept over her as she severed the other set of chains.

"The Doors!" She shouted, dragon-bone sword cutting through an Empousa. "Don't let them close!"

I hesitated for an instant, before throwing myself at them, shoving a foot through the elevator doors before they shut entirely. I wanted to rush to Annabeth's aid, but she was right, of course. If the Doors shut, they'd vanish, leaving us here—which meant we'd be trapped with countless monsters and locked in Tartarus besides. I had to trust her to hold her own.

She did. She cut down an Arai, swore as the curse took hold, swept through a dozen telkhines, drove it into the eye on a giant wolf, and then rolled to the side, out of the path of a trampling griffin. I lost track of her then, as monsters closed in on me as well, encroaching on all sides as they realized I had my back to a literal wall. But hey, it meant no one could sneak up on me. That was pretty cool.

The next minute or so was a blur of fangs, claws, swords, fists, and fire as creatures rolled towards me—and when I felt something touch my elbow, I nearly stabbed Annabeth. She had one hand to the side of her waist and I could see blood seeping through it. She looked pale and she was sweating enough to make me think she was sick.

"You okay!?" I shouted over the din of battle.

"It's not bad," She lied, clutching her side. "I really despise Arai, though."

I stared at her worriedly, but there wasn't time to argue. I reached behind me and pushed the elevator doors open. I knew what this meant, knew there was only one way this could work out, and knew I had to make a decision.

To make the Doors work, someone had to stay down here and operate it.

On the Brightside, it was a pretty easy decision to make, honestly.

"Get inside," I shouted. "I'll hold the button!"

"Yeah, right!" She shouted back, glaring at me. Another griffin dove at her. She stabbed it in the face. "You promised, Seaweed Brain! We would not get separated! Ever again!"

I was about to reply, but an entire phalanx of Cyclopes chose that moment to charge up, stampeding over everything in their way. I knew Cyclopes, given how I was related to most of them, and I knew how strong they were. A group that size would…well, if we fought them like this, they'd kill us.

So I cheated and broke my word. I reached out as I had with Akhlys, felt something like a sphere in my stomach breaking, and reached out. This was Tartarus' heart and the five rivers were what traveled through them. I sensed the River Phlegathon as it flowed beneath me, tore it up through the dark god's flesh with a cry, and showered the monsters with liquid fire. Cyclopes didn't generally burn, but they did now. I panted heavily.

"Annabeth, you have to go," I told her. "We can't both stay! Someone needs to push the button and hold it for twelve minutes. I can protect myself even without my hands!"

"Damn it, Percy, no!" She turned to me. I could see tears mixing with blood from the cuts on her face. "I'm not leaving you! We promised!"

I looked around. The monsters were hesitating to approach after what I'd just done—watching people get burnt alive tends to do that—but it was only a matter of time before they realized that not only would they come back if they were killed, but they outnumbered us five burjillion to one. But for the moment, I had time to breath.

So I turned to Annabeth and kissed her gently. It wasn't as romantic as it could have been—it'd been a few days since either of us could bath or brush our teeth and in that time we'd gone through hell. I realized belatedly that my lip had started bleeding at some point. Hers were badly chapped. I stank and I hurt and I was too tired to truly enjoy it.

But I tried. I loved her and I always would and I wanted to make sure she would remember.

Because I'd promised.

But I also lied. I'd lied at Damasen's, lied about trying to control things I shouldn't, and though I didn't want to, I guess I'd lied about this.

I pulled away with a smile and pushed Annabeth through the Doors of Death as they tried to close again, turned, and pushed the button.

She bounced off the back of the elevator, eyes going wide, and then they narrowed in rage before the doors took them from my sight.

"Percy, you son of a _bitch_," I heard her say and I could _feel_ her throw herself against the inside of the Doors, the sensation rebounding through my gut painfully, around the broken sphere of my power.

I made her stop. I reached into her, into the waters of her body, and I made her stop. I heard her gasp in pain and flinched, but I didn't let her move.

"My mother is amazing and you know it!" I shouted back. I paused and then said. "Tell her I love her."

Then the elevator carried her up and away as I started counting the seconds. Twelve minutes. I just had to hold out for twelve minutes.

I lied to myself and said it'd be easy.

Soon, the monsters regained their courage and attacked again—but I hadn't been lying to Annabeth about this, at least, and though the sphere in my stomach seemed to be cracking more and more, I tore the rivers of the Underworld out through a dark god's veins. I bowed over the button, hunched up to make a smaller target, held on, and hoped.

But it was hard to hold onto hope down here, as things began to get dark. Bob and Small Bob had seemed to do little to Tartarus beforehand, never really hurting him however much blood they drew—but Tartarus wasn't used to having a body and they'd kept from getting hurt themselves. Now though, he was getting the hang of it and he was strong and fast enough to make up the rest of the difference. Bob the Sabre-tooth lunged at him but he simply smacked him aside faster than I could believe. Bob the Titan lunged, but Tartarus caught his spear and kicked him with a foot the size of a car, tearing the spear from his hands and sending him sprawling.

With a crackling laugh, Tartarus held Bob's spear in both hands and snapped it, sending the Titan arching with a cry of agony, as if his legs had been broken instead.

_You Titans are nothing to me. You were weak when you bowed meekly to Uranos and you were pathetic when you were overthrown by your own spawn. My children the giants were always better, stronger and more vicious. _Tartarus mocked as he approached Bob, who didn't so much as stir. The monsters attacking me drew away to watch him die—the death of a Titan.

I couldn't let that happen. I called up the Phlegethon, Cocytus, Styx, Lethe, and Archeron, the five rivers of the Underworld, and I flung my might at the God of the Pit.

I wasn't sure if he noticed. He rocked slightly as I sent the improvised river flowing over him, but otherwise acted as if nothing had happened. I guess it was too much to expect the things that flowed through his veins to have much effect on him.

I licked my lips. I couldn't let go of the button or something bad would happen to Annabeth. But I couldn't let my friend die, either, and he would if I didn't do something—and then, with Tartarus free, I'd probably die shortly after. I had to help Bob somehow.

My sword, at least, could cut him. It didn't seem to really bother him, going by how much a severed Achilles Tendon had slowed him down, but it was more than nothing. I'd created hands out of water, before. Maybe I could hold the button down that way. But if I got distracted, got hurt, then…

It would still be better than if I did nothing. I took a breath—

And was promptly distracted by a sudden commotion. I heard shrikes and screams and a series of quick, echoing booms that I realized belatedly were footsteps. I saw a creature spin through the air as if tossed and then a plume of bright-green gas spread over a long, wide line of monsters.

They dissolved abruptly and I saw the cause—and I had to smile. The Maeonian drakon hissed, its frilled-collar spread, and the scent of its poison breath filled the battlefield. It shifted its hundred-foot-long body, flicked its tail, and wiped out a battalion. Astride it sat a twenty-foot tall giant I knew and he looked pretty amazing as cavalry went.

"You took your time, Damasen!" I shouted. "Annabeth already got tired of the party and left!"

"Unfortunate!" He shouted back. "I had hoped to thank her for her advice, but I had to make a stop!"

_What is this? _Tartarus seethed. _Why have you come here, my disgraced son?_

Damasen looked me in the eye once and then down to the button I held down, before nodded solemnly. Then he turned to his father, his drakon stomping it's feet, and spoke.

"You wished for a more worthy opponent, did you not, Father?" Damasen asked calmly. "It is for your sake I have come. I am one of the giants you are so proud of and you always wished for me to be more war-like. I have decided to start by destroying you!"

The giant leveled his dragon-rib spear and charged, his drakon trampling over the hordes of monsters that got in his way without so much as slowing. I turned to Bob as the Titan staggered to his feet and away from the fray, giving him what cover I could by exploding blood vessels and dissolving monsters in the waters of the Styx, forcing them to collapse in Misery from the Cocytus, or stealing away their memories with the waters of the River Lethe. When Bob reached me, I could see the golden ichor flowing from the wounds on his arms and chest and he was hunched as if the breaking of his spear had taken something vital from him.

And yet, he smiled, though it dimmed slightly as he faced me.

"I'm sorry, my friend," He said. "I had hoped for you both to escape. I should have been the one to hold the door."

I smiled up at him, more cheerful then I had any right to be. The situation was still horrible. We were still outnumbered. Tartarus was still here. We were still doomed.

But I was pretty sure I could get Annabeth out. And I'd changed my mind. As death's go, this one was alright.

"It's cool, man," I said. "If I left you behind twice, what kind of friend would I be? You mind covering me, though?"

Small Bob leapt over his master and planted his feet before the pedestal, snarling at the monsters who seemed ready to approach. Bob stood over me, protectively.

"We can't beat Tartarus, but we can buy time," Bod said. He looked over his shoulder. "Seven minutes. And then—"

And then it'd be over for all of us. Tartarus would unmake us all—there'd be no reincarnation for us. We'd be destroyed utterly at best and punished eternally at worst, if he got his say. I took a breath and nodded, just holding the button, thinking about it. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't terrified.

But I wasn't ready to roll over and die, either. And I thought I had an idea. Not a _good_ idea, maybe—perhaps even a suicidal _bad_ idea—but an idea. A way to go out in style, at the very least, _if_ I could pull it off.

The battle raged around me as the minutes dragged on. Bob and Small Bob tore apart the monsters that attacked me and Damasen warred with his father, stabbing him in the neck, the stomach, and the legs—everywhere he could reach. It seemed to annoy him more than anything else, but he held his own, surviving what was thrown at him. In comparison, I had the easy job, just holding down the button, but I swear those seven minutes dragged out endlessly. I saw my friends bleed for my sake, risking their lives so I could do this, and I knew that they could die at any moment. I prayed to my father, though I knew he couldn't help me down here. I prayed to everyone I could think of, honestly.

And then the button vanished and my job was done. I'd done it. I'd saved Annabeth.

There was just one last thing I had to do.

"Bob, Small Bob, come with me!" I shouted and then turned towards Damasen. I could see blood on the Giant's chest and face, long marks on the drakon's sides, and I knew they were barely holding on. They'd gotten hurt badly when I hadn't been looking and each wound slowed them down more and more, leading to more wounds. Tartarus, though…he didn't slow. Nothing they did could really hurt him.

But I had a bad idea I wanted to try.

"Damasen, hold on tight!" I shouted and jumped up to grab the drakon's tail. "Bob, grab me! Hold your breath people!"

This was probably going to kill me. To kill all of us.

So be it.

I reached out again, as I'd done with the blood vessels. But this time was different—I went further, deeper. My stomach felt like a glass ball that was cracking and it _hurt_. But I didn't stop. I went farther than I had with Akhlys, farther then I believed I could go, to the point where I thought I'd break.

And then I did.

But I reached down into the ground beneath me as I did, because I was standing on Tartarus' heart and this was where the 'blood' in his veins gathered. I saw the dark god's manifestation stagger, saw a hand go to its chest—and then I heard something tear and something break and the rivers of the dead flooded over us all.

I was lost then. I called to my power as best I could and tried to keep us dry—but that could only do so much. Most of the rivers ignored my power completely. The Archeon's waters washed over me and I suffered more than I thought I possibly could, an agony I could hardly describe. I burned, I thought, and was cut and torn apart and drowned and flayed and worse. The Cocytus flowed over us and sucked the heat and hope alike from my body, leaving me with the knowledge that what I'd done was futile, that Annabeth was as good as dead and so were all my friends. The Styx came by and pried my dreams—of a future, of victory, of Annabeth and the life we could have together—away. The Phlegethon, perhaps, was the cruelest, because it kept me alive so I could continue to suffer.

But I held off the River Lethe and so I remembered. I remembered Annabeth, I remembered my friends, I remembered where I was and who I was and why. The other Rivers kept me from being happy about that, or proud, or anything but miserable, but I wouldn't let it take those things from me. From us.

I was barely aware of our surroundings through the agony—and when I was, it didn't seem important. But I felt it, distantly, when the flood of water began to flow downhill, as water is wont to do, and carry us along with it. Occasionally, I felt us going over the edges of things, going farther and farther down into Tartarus, and I thought I knew where we were going.

Down to the bottom.

Over the edge.

I couldn't stop us. I couldn't even _want_ to stop us. It was just a thought in my head, a fact, awareness of what I was facing.

In time, we tumbled over into the void from which Tartarus itself was born, and I thought this would be it. Here was where they would be unmade.

And then I hit something that felt bizarrely like a floor. The agony continued for a moment, maybe even _worsened_—and then, abruptly, died away.

"Well, well, well, what is this?" I heard a pleasant, almost musical voice ask. "It's rare indeed that I get visitors."

**XxXXxX**


End file.
